


to serve

by mairesmagicshop



Series: a thousand forgotten things - a pre-story Arcana collection [4]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairesmagicshop/pseuds/mairesmagicshop
Summary: He wants so much to serve her and would take all the darkness into himself if he could. Purify her with his love. Keep her safe. Follows "unsaid."Mention of child plague victims.





	to serve

His apprentice looses a string of curses so strongly, she’d make a pirate blush – and having known several, that’s saying a lot, Julian thinks. But he understands perfectly. He knows the reason. Feels it only too keenly himself, the shards of self-loathing and utter fucking failure cutting him to ribbons within. The taste of salt rises in the back of his throat, his mouth slick with too much saliva - he could be sick right here on the floor, in front of her, over it all - but he steels himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his mouth. He can be strong for her now, must be in her moment of need, a slight tremor in his hands the only tell. He looks down and shakes his head as he eases the clinic door shut.

The attendants have just taken out the last two bodies of the day: two small children, a brother and sister. Orphaned by the plague, now succumbed to it; victimized twice over by this unrelenting force ravaging lives, so cruelly haphazard. She stood by the window, looking over her shoulder, arms wrapped around herself as they disappeared through the door, their small faces finally at peace. And when Julian closes the door behind them, she heaves a sob, shaking violently, face in her hands. There it is. The sound will be his undoing; her breaking will break him, too.

He peels off his gloves and in a few long strides he comes to her, arms outstretched, and pulls her to him as tightly as she’ll go, his hand resting against the back of her head. She goes heavy and limp in his arms, her knees given out, and he lowers them slowly to the floor. He does not speak for a moment. They sit in silence, Julian rocking them back and forth ever so slightly, running his fingers through her hair. She gasps as she weeps, running her arm across her eyes.

“What are we even doing here,” she whispers, her voice plaintive and full of resignation. She begins to compose herself as she presses away from him, levels him with red-rimmed eyes. “Julian, what are we doing?”

He considers her for a moment. Considers that this question is not meant to be answered; that this question has no answer – not a good one, anyway. He swallows slowly, averting his eyes for a moment, then clears his throat. “I think it’s time for a break, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” she snaps. “In case you haven’t noticed, people’s children are dying all around us. And all I can do is watch.”

He shakes his head gently as he sets himself to sliding her gloves down off her arm. “May I?” he asks. She nods in response.

“You - ” he begins, tenderly running his hand down each arm, taking the dingy gloves with him, dropping them into her lap “- aren’t just watching.” Takes her warm, slightly damp hands into his as he begins to massage the heel of her palm, making circles with his thumb. He leans forward, meeting her eyes intently. “You’re working night and day now to try and find a cure. Is there nothing to be said for that?”

She sighs heavily, her head falling back theatrically. “Yes, of course there is. It’s just… so hard.” She straightens up toward him, shoulders still slumped under some invisible weight – whether the suffering around them, or the sense of powerlessness, his heart wrenches for her and he is ashamed. Tremendously selfish, you are. The voices come unbidden, snarling jeers, the sound of metal dragged over stone. He’d carried this burden alone for some time; why had he needed to foist it on her? She’d wanted to help, true, but he knew where this was all headed. Even now he straddles the chasm between denial and inevitability. What are they doing? To what end? He closes his eyes, willing the demons to disperse, and summons his resolve. Boldness, Devorak. Boldness wins the day.

“You’ve told me before that we’re no good to anyone if we don’t take proper care of ourselves. Won’t you let me take care of you now?” He raises his eyebrows in question, waiting – praying – for her response. He wants so much to serve her and would take all the darkness into himself if he could. Purify her with his love. Keep her safe.

He feels her fingers slowly interlock with his. “I- all right.” She glances up, her eyelashes fluttering. “Please take me away from here. Anywhere.” It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Julian gets to his feet, gently bringing her up with him. He opens his mouth to speak but his tongue feels too big, ideas whizzing around his head and his thoughts fighting amongst themselves, only fragments able to slip by. “Would you… erm, that is… do you want to come to uh, to my place?” he blurts out, the only place he can think of where he wants to be with her tonight. He plans to lay his emotions prostrate to her, and he does not know what she will do or say. Better a place where they can be alone together, where she need not be concerned for appearances or – swallowing hard, willing against the possibility – a quick exit.

Oh dear, he thinks. He reads shock on her face and turns away, feels his ears burning – scandalized? Oh damn, damn, damn – “… of course, that’s just… we could…” he fumbles, in a vain attempt to recover, glancing back in her direction.

But she smiles – bites her lip, oh my god – and answers softly, her eyes earnest and bright, curious and surprised. “I’d love that.”

He cannot stop the wide grin that splits his face, and nods curtly. “Good – why don’t we head over then. Sun’s almost down.” He sees the guilt return, the regret in her eyes, and cups her chin. “This will be here, all right? It will be here waiting for you to keep trying.”

She nods slowly, tilting her face closer. Not here, he thinks. Not in this place. He leans past her, his arms coming to her shoulders, his lips close to her ear. “Leave it behind for the night.” He steps back, offering his hand with a smile. And they do, locking up behind them and stepping out into the muggy embrace of the evening before them.

He chooses a route he knows well, spiriting her away from the main squares and areas where people tend to congregate, bending her ear with idle chatter. In reality, he’s a jangled pile of nerves as he mentally inventories the contents of his pantry: bought bread this morning, there’s a bit of jam and some hard cheese? These worries are needless, he knows; just borne out of a desire for things to be perfect for her. He’s seen her delight in simple things, and so he trusts that a rustic cheese plate and a glass of wine will do for their dinner.

They soon arrive at his door – here already, so quickly, he thinks, innards twisting in a nauseating mix of anxiety and anticipation – and he waggles his eyebrows as he puts his shoulder into the door. It sticks, he explains with a grin, as the door groans to admit them.

The dying sunlight paints a menagerie of shadows across the walls, and he stumbles in search of a lamp.

“Here,” she says, as she points a finger toward a pair of candlesticks on the table, igniting the wicks with a flash. It makes him strangely uncomfortable. He’s never seen her perform her magic like this before, doesn’t understand it. What must it be like, he wonders, having that kind of power always simmering below the surface? He’d never admit even to himself, but it feels something like envy, a rough thread tugged through a too-tight buttonhole. She reads the uncertainty on his face – he is transparent for her – and asks him if he’s all right.

“I’m sorry,” she continues. “That must make you feel odd.” And so he opens to her, tells her of his complete lack of magical affinity, how it simply does not make sense to him as he lights a few lamps - the good, old fashioned way, he harrumphs in his head - and begins assembling their supper. But the way she proceeds to explain her magic astounds him – how similar it is to making potions and tinctures, the trial and error and maddening method of it all.

“I’ve never heard it explained that way,” he says incredulously, as he hands her two glasses and the jug of wine. “Now that makes sense!”

“I suppose you weren’t hanging around with the right magicians then,” she says with a wink as she sets the glasses on the table and pours them each half full.

“Clearly, I was not,” as he gives her what he hopes is his most dashing smile. He sets their plates down – complete with some smoked sausage and dried apricots he’d found, joy of joys! - and gestures for her to sit.

She is so fetching in the dim light, her cheeks flushed and dewy. He makes several stammering apologies for the state of his home, the meager repast he’s assembled, but she laughs them all off. She’s grateful to him, she says. She would not have been so kind with herself after the day they’d had.

And then, he has an idea.

“There’s something else I would like to do for you, that is… if it’s not too… untoward.”

“Untoward? Whatever could you mean?”

“I’ll, um… I’ll show you.”

He stands and walks over to the partition dividing the main room from his sleeping quarters, beckons for her to follow him. Across from his bed: a large copper bathtub, full of water. He suddenly feels foolish – why has he suggested this? It’s completely inappropriate – but words fill his mouth like marbles and he explains in a mad rush. “I meant to get up early and get a good soak in, but I wanted to make sure I was on time to - to meet you, so it’s sat here all day waiting, and… well perhaps with your, your magic, you know - you could heat up the water and just, soak in here yourself, relax…” he trails off, fairly horrified with himself, swallowing uncomfortably as his face prickles with heat.

“So you… you really did mean to take care of me, didn’t you?” She turns to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs into his hair. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.” She steps back. “Julian - this is wonderful.” She looks down at the tub and back to him, her dark brow arched. “May I?”


End file.
